Today
by storybycorey
Summary: When things don't go quite as planned at the infertility clinic, Mulder requires Scully's "auditory" assistance in order to help him make another donation. Yeah, it's phone sex, baby. Per Manum phone sex. With a little angst on the side, just the way I like it.


It had been there since this morning. Since last night even. Hell, since the moment she'd bared her soul and asked him the hardest question of her life, exactly twenty-six days ago.

A churning deep within. A tangle of emotion, writhing and wrestling in the depths of her belly. Fear. Expectation. Anxiety. Hope and anticipation and raw, pure terror. Each sentiment struggling to gain dominance. Perhaps in their scuffle, they've created enough space for the life she so badly hopes will reside there, in just a few short, agonizing days.

She's taken the necessary medications, readied her body to receive this precious, precious gift. The gift she hadn't even known was a possibility until a month ago, that which she now wants more desperately than life itself. Which is ironic, since 'life itself' is exactly what she desires.

Today. She and Mulder will merge today. Their fragile bodies will finally unite, in a consummation seven years in the making.

In a sterile, temperature-regulated, precisely-prepared petri dish.

Certainly not the way she'd envisioned them coming together, the many, many times she's imagined it, caressing her breasts and sliding her fingers through her wet folds, his name slipping dangerously from her lips under the secrecy of darkness.

No. Not at all the way she'd imagined. Yet, a joining nonetheless.

Sitting in the basement office, her hands wring themselves dry in her lap, computer screen buzzing before her eyes, yet essentially unseen. Seconds crawl as slowly as her heart beats fast, a dichotomy she fails to fully appreciate. As she waits.

He's due back soon. She tries her hardest not to think about what's transpiring, perhaps this very moment. Because that's not what this is about. That's not at all what this is about.

Unbidden though, the images come. Of his hands on his… and his face as he… and the sounds that he…. She's embarrassed at the squeak that slides from her throat, at the way her nipples tighten against her bra, and she quickly shakes her head, standing up to pace the room instead. It's more difficult to fantasize while walking, she reasons.

When the ding of the elevator alerts her to his presence, her stomach lurches, and she realizes she's entirely unprepared. She's been counting the seconds, yet hasn't thought past the simple act of him arriving. Is there a script hidden in this office somewhere? A guidebook explaining the proper way to greet the man who just jacked himself off into a cup for you?

"Hey…, I'm back," he mumbles as he enters, shyly finding her eyes, then quickly looking way. She wonders whether this is as strange and uncomfortable for him as it's proving to be for her.

Attempting nonchalance, she asks, "Everything come out fine?" then feels immediately foolish. Jesus, Dana, get a fucking grip. "Umm," she mutters, quietly dying inside, "I mean…ah, how'd it go?"

He chuckles, glancing at his shoes, "Yeah…yeah, ummm…, came out just like normal, same as it always does…ha ha…"

She turns away, not wanting him to see her blush, not wanting him to see how absolutely life-changing, yet absolutely awkward, this whole situation is for her. 'Just like normal, same as always.' No. This is so, so *not* like normal, *not* the same as any time ever, ever before.

She knows he realizes this. They both realize this. And the realization hangs so heavily over their heads, it's close to unbearable.

"So I guess now we just wait, huh?" he says, sitting down at his desk as she scuffs her patent leather toes upon the ground.

"Hmmm?" she hums, lost for a moment in her thoughts, in the enormity of the ball that has begun rolling, gaining momentum with each second that passes.

But she gathers herself together, stammering, "Umm, yes, yes. We wait…. The injection of your… ummm… of your…," she is suddenly back in eighth grade, sitting in sex ed class, Andrew Maloney snickering behind her as she answers a question aloud to the class.

"My sperm?" he supplies with a grin, and she both hates him and loves him for it.

"Yes, umm, your sperm," she says, feeling the flush rise on her cheeks, despite her attempts to dispel it. Your sperm, your sperm. Mulder's sperm. My god, we're talking about Mulder's sperm. "The injection into the eggs will take place this afternoon, ah…., then in a few days, the embryos will be implanted into my uterus. And then…," she fades away.

They both know what could happen next.

It's silly really, planning a future based on such a small chance.

But silliness isn't enough to keep her from hoping.

What could happen next is that she becomes pregnant and she has a baby and they fall in love (as if they weren't quietly in love already) and they live happily ever after and…

Or what could happen next is nothing.

And she doesn't know that she can survive nothing much longer.

The air is thick and spongy as they look across the desk at one another, and she has to drag herself away from the sucking depths of his gaze. She could fall so, so easily into him right now, could bathe in the love she feels for him in this moment, on this day that he's given her something she'd never have even fathomed asking from anyone else.

But instead of falling, she crosses the room and sits before her laptop, trying her damnedest to think of anything but what is happening across town in a quiet lab, in a small glass dish that has suddenly become her entire world.

He grunts, and she can hear him shuffling files, attempting normalcy on one of the least normal days she's sure he has ever experienced.

An hour passes, then two, and she's surprised to find they've actually accomplished some things amidst the weight of awkwardness and hope and expectation. While her belly still churns, his presence is solid and reassuring, and for the thousandth time today, she is grateful for him.

She looks across to him typing at his desk, and her mind wanders. She pictures him with a sleeping baby in his arms, a look of serenity softening his face. It's the first time she's really allowed herself to view him as a father, as backwards as that is. His sperm is, possibly right this second, being injected into her eggs, and she is just now looking at him as a father. A father to her child. To THEIR child. Sudden tears prick at the corners of her eyes. The idea is enough to bring her to her knees, if she weren't sitting already.

She permits the fantasy to continue, and in it, his eyes drift up to meet her own, a smile playing upon his lips that makes her breath catch. He lays the infant in a crib, then turns to her, reaching, reaching, until she is in his arms and his lips are on her cheek. Then her jaw. Then her lips. And ohhh, sliding, sucking, his teeth nipping. His tongue nudges its way inside, and his fingers trail along her ribs, down over her sensitive hips and lower, lower, until they cup her rear. And when he thrusts against her, she….

She is startled back to reality by the trill of his phone.

She is embarrassed to find herself wet, her cheeks probably flushed and lips swollen with arousal. This day is doing things to her. Rarely does she give in to the fantasies, and when she does, she's alone, in bed, desperate. Never, never here. With him sitting not ten feet away.

The tone of his voice draws her from her musings, and she begins to realize there's something wrong.

"No, no…, how soon? Here? I don't know…. Okay, yes, I understand…. No, absolutely not, I will make it work…. NO, termination of the cycle is NOT an option…. Okay, we'll have it there as soon as possible…"

Before he's even disconnected, she is up. Termination of the cycle. The phrase expands in the room, swelling until it presses against her body, squeezing her lungs until she has no air to breathe, no air except for that which is full of those awful, awful words. She thinks she may pass out.

At the click of his phone, she is clawing at his desk, "What, what? Mulder, what?" She honestly hadn't fully comprehended her investment in this until this very second, when suddenly, it appears her chance may be dangling by a thread.

His hand stills her at her wrist, and his touch alone is enough to tamp down her panic. "Calm down, calm down, it's okay, Scully," his voice is a balm on her frayed nerves, and she wants to massage him into her skin, to rub him in until her heart has slowed its pounding. "They just…they need a new specimen….Something's happened, something with calibration or temperature or something… I don't know, I should have had them speak with you…. But regardless, they just need me to make another ah…donation…that's all."

She sighs in relief. Another donation. That's all. Nothing has happened to her eggs; everything's fine. "Oh, okay. Okay, good. Well, that's fine. I can handle things here at the office. Go ahead, you probably need to get over there quickly…," she sits back in her chair and swipes her hands down her face, nerves still buzzing from the momentary scare.

"Well, that's the thing, Scully. Ummm, there's a problem with the rooms, the ummm…private rooms….They're all being used, or unavailable, or I'm not sure….but it was suggested that it may be best for me to complete my donation HERE, then bring it directly to the lab…" He looks down with a slight grin, then back to her.

"Oh," she replies sharply, pulling her head back in surprise. "Oh. Here? You mean HERE? Ah, well, yes, I suppose that's possible. Ummm, well, let me… uh, let me go get a sterilized sample cup from the lab upstairs for you then. And you can ummm, get ready or whatever…," she feels her ears burn as she rushes out the door, and doesn't miss his chuckle at her reaction.

When she returns, he's waiting, and she hands him the cup with stained cheeks and a flutter in her chest. He looks down, mumbling, "Okay, well, I'll be ummm….," he waves his hand, and for a moment she thinks he's miming his impending actions. Her teeth trap the corner of her bottom lip before she realizes he was only indicating the direction of the hallway restroom.

When he's gone, she slumps into her chair and releases a breath. Why do things suddenly feel so incredibly intimate, so very real? Why does she suddenly feel like she's stepped inside some private sanctuary, his hidden lair?

It's not as though he doesn't do this frequently, perhaps even every day… Her internal walls clench at the thought, of him pulling his hardened cock out on his black, leather couch, gritting his teeth while the tendons tighten in his neck, groaning her name as he comes…. Her eyes close, and she sucks in a breath at the thought.

He's just down the hall.

*She* knows it.

*He* knows that she knows it.

And she's sitting here WAITING for him. Jesus.

She stands abruptly, searching the room for something with which to occupy herself. Paperwork, a file, cleaning, anything. Anything so that she's not sitting here WAITING while he masturbates.

Minutes pass. More. More. Until she's not sure whether to be impressed by his stamina or worried. Or maybe both?

As she debates checking on him or not (and no, how could she ever bring herself to do that?), she hears the muffled noise of her cell phone from her purse. "Scully," she answers, but for a moment hears nothing on the other end.

But then his breathing, and his voice, "Scully?"

"Mulder? Where are you? Are you still in the bathroom?" she heads into the hall towards the restroom before he speaks again.

"Yeah, still here, still here…. Ummm, yeah…just kind of having a hard time of things here…, or guess I should say *not* having a hard time of things…ha ha…," he chuckles self-consciously.

Oh.

And no. He can't have a hard time of things. Or a soft time of things. Or any way of things other than one that will result in her eggs being fertilized in a petri dish in an hour.

"Mulder," she coos, standing in the hallway midway between their office and the bathroom, "you can do it. I know you can. Do you need me to get anything for you? Do you have any ummm… reading material here? Visual aids?" She cannot believe she's offering to bring him porn.

"No, no, I got rid of all that a while ago…. And ummm, yeah, my imagination's not quite cutting it….It's kind of, you know, been a while for me…" Is it wrong that she feels a tiny thrill ripple through her body at his admission? "Can you… ummm… I can't believe I'm asking this…, but can you talk to me, Scully?"

Oh god. "T-t-talk to you?" she squeaks, "You mean like…? Mulder, I don't think…" Suddenly her heart is in her chest, thumping so wildly she fears she may choke.

"Just…just a little, Scully, just to get me started…" She leans against the wall, closing her eyes, picturing him just on the other side of that door, close enough to touch, if she actually had any control over her body at this point.

"Mulderrrr," she whines, looking at the ceiling, feeling like a petulant child, "I really don't think… I can't… Have you tried…," she doesn't even know what to offer as an alternative suggestion, only that there's absolutely no way she can do this.

"Listen, I've tried everything, Scully, believe me. I'm desperate here. And the eggs… we've… we've got to do this…," she hears the desperation in his voice, and she realizes. She realizes that he wants this just as badly as she does. And she wants it so, so badly.

But oh god, can she do this? She's participated in her fair share of dirty talk over the years, but this is Mulder. MULDER. The man who twined his fingers through her own seven years ago and hasn't let go since, the man without which she cannot comprehend a future. Can she do this without becoming lost in it? Without slipping into a fantasy that may never, never become anything but that—a fantasy?

She's got to try.

"Oh god, Mulder," she moans, moving quickly back into the office and locking the door. "Okay. Okayokayokay." She sits at his desk, closing her eyes and dropping her head into her hand, gnawing on her lip, unsure of how to even begin. "Okay. Ummm…," she murmurs, "Mulder, I don't even know…I don't even know how to start…"

"Just talk, Scully…, talk to me… tell me a story, a story about a man and a woman… So madly in love they can hardly bear it, they can hardly keep their hands off each other…," his voice is soft, sensual, and she already begins to doubt her resolve. A story. A man and a woman madly in love. The concept is completely foreign to her, she realizes. Do people actually fall in love? Live happily ever after? Does the ache ever go away? Does the yearning disappear?

Keep it together, Dana. A story. Keep it simple. Hot. Sexy. What does Mulder even like? She feels her clit throb at just the thought that he has sexual preferences, that they may actually even align with her own. "Ummm, alright…, ah, ummmm, imagine…imagine a woman…."

Imagine me, she whispers inside her head, before stopping herself.

"And… ahhh… a man. He… he loves this woman. He finds her beautiful, sexy…," she cringes at how inane she surely must sound.

"Yeah…," he encourages.

"And she…ah, she comes up from behind him. She reaches…, she slides her hands around his waist and slips her fingers beneath his shirt…." Is this even what he's looking for? God, this is so incredibly awkward.

She hears a soft grunt through the line, then his voice, "A dress shirt, Scully? Are they at work? Or at home? Whose apartment?" Okay, okay, he's going with it. She can do this.

Her tongue swipes across her lips as she pictures it, visualizes the two of them in his apartment, late one evening, fish tank glowing in the corner, stress of the day tearing them down until they are raw and needy. "His apartment," she whispers.

"What next, Scully? How does she touch him?" Does his voice sound husky? Ohgodohgodohgod, is this really happening?

"Ummm, she caresses his torso. She traces her fingers along his abdomen, dipping them between his hard muscles…," her fingers twitch, craving his skin, itching to reenact the story she tells. His breaths whisper in her ear. "And she strokes upwards to his chest, scratching lightly through his chest hair with her fingernails… She loves the feel of him. Hard, masculine…." She imagines his chest, ugh, his chest, and feels herself flush. This is getting personal. Should she tone it down?

"Yeah…?" he breathes. Jesus, the raspy sound of his voice.

"She spreads her fingers and slides…, slides them across until she finds his nipples." Will he like that? Does he like a woman to play with his nipples? Would he like *her* to play with his nipples? "And then she…," she pauses before continuing, both embarrassed and aroused, "she pinches them slightly."

There's no mistaking the sharp groan from inside the bathroom, and she sucks her lip between her teeth at the sound. Jesus Christ, what are they doing? His breath is heavy in her ear, and she basks in the steamy sound of it. "Is that…is that good, Mulder? Do you like that?"

"God, Scully, keep going…"

"Ummm, okay, she ahhh, she turns him around…she wants to kiss him…wants to feel his lips, his tongue…," her own tongue plays across her lips, lingers, before she continues, "She puts her hands on his shoulders and stretches up on her toes to meet him…"

"Is he tall, Scully? Is he a lot taller than she is?" he murmurs. God yes, Mulder. He's so tall, so tall that he can completely encompass her, yet has never, ever made her feel small.

"Yeah," she breathes, "He's tall…He can tuck her under his chin if he wants to…." The very top of her head tingles, reliving those few times he's rested his chin in that very spot. "Ummm, so she…she reaches up and she kisses him, she slides her tongue ummm, between his lips… And the man and the woman…they're so…so hungry for each other, Mulder… They want each other so badly…." So, so badly.

She is drifting, immersing herself in the story, and as each word falls from her lips, she feels herself sinking deeper, deeper. The initial awkwardness is fading, and she finds herself being pulled in. Her eyes are closed while she rests her ear against the phone, and the tips of her fingers trace lightly across her lips.

The rumble of his moan spurs her on, "Their…their lips…and their tongues…and their ummm…teeth… they devour each other. Absolutely devour each other. They… they can't contain themselves. She…she loves him so much… They're desperate for each other… desperate…." This is getting out of hand. Her emotions are becoming entangled, peeking through the cracks.

She tries to pull back, get back to the story, "He slides his hands down her body…down until he's ahhh…ummm…cupping her…her ass…" She can practically feel his big hands, gripping her rear, lifting, lifting….

"Christ, Scully…yeah," he groans, and her hand curves down the arch of her neck to her clavicle, stroking the delicate skin at the neckline of her blouse. His breaths are harsh in her ear, and she can't help the hum in the back of her throat when she pictures where his own hands may be right now.

"He lifts her up…ahhh…against him. She's surprised at first, but then she wraps her arms and her legs around him, and she can feel his ummm… can feel his ahhh… his 'desire' between her legs…" She can't bring herself to say the word.

"Say it, Scully," he mutters in a voice that hardens her nipples immediately. Oh god. How did he know?

"Wha…what…say what, Mulder?" she whispers.

"Tell me what she feels between her legs, Scully. What does she feel against her *clit*?" She bites her lip and thrusts her hips slightly at his words, a gush of wetness soaking her panties. Holy fuck, what is happening here? But she wants to tell him. She wants to please him. She needs to.

"H-h-his cock, Mulder. She feels his stiff, hard cock," she murmurs in a voice she doesn't remember ever escaping her lips before.

He moans, then responds huskily, "Good girrrl."

"Oh god," she whimpers, suddenly spinning, spinning out of control. She wants to be Mulder's good girl. She's embarrassed, but she wants to be Mulder's very best girl. Holy shit. "Ummm…ahhh…so she feels it, she feels his *cock*…" The word feels forbidden and spicy against her tongue, and his responding moan only heightens the sensation. "And she ummm…she grinds herself against him…"

She'd never intended things to go this far ("just to get me started, Scully…"), but now…. She doesn't think she wants to stop. She finds her hand between her own legs, and begins rubbing, stroking herself through the fabric of her trousers. So good. The sounds he's making are driving her insane, and she is already so wet, so wet for him.

"And then he turns…he turns and he carries her….And she's kissing him, running her fingers through his…his hair…," her fingers find her clit and circle it. She gasps. "And you carry her to your couch, your leather couch… and you lay her down…so gently, so, so gently…" She's unaware of her switch from third person to second. Unaware how close she's edging to that line between fantasy and reality.

"Scully…," he breathes.

"Good, Mulder? Is it good?" she whispers.

"So good, Scully…"

"And you kneel beside the couch, and you lean over her, and ummm…you start…you unbutton her blouse…and she…she's breathing so hard for you, Mulder. Her…her breasts are heaving, her nipples aching…for your touch…," she unbuttons her top two buttons, imagining his hands, imagining his face hovering above her.

"You…you take her… her bra…. You start to unclasp it in the front there…," her voice is breathy as she plays with the clasp of her own bra, wanting his warm fingers there, tickling, teasing.

"What…what does it look like, Scully? Your… her bra? What does it look like?" She doesn't catch his slip, but looks down anyway, wanting him to picture it, wanting him to picture *her*.

"It's… it's black. Satin. With ahhh… lace. Around the top… And her pale skin shows through the lace…. And her… her nipples…they…"

"Tell me, Scully… tell me about her nipples…," he groans.

"God, Mulder… They're… they're hard…. They're poking through the satin of her bra," she glances down and sees her own nipples pressing against the satin, aching for his touch. "And… you push it away… and her… her breasts spill free." She closes her eyes and bites her lip, trying to picture his face, the first time he sees her, the first time she allows him to touch. "And then… and then you… you touch herrrr…." She grasps her breast in her hand and moans, squeezing, finding her nipple through the fabric and running her nail over the hardened nub.

"Unnghhh… yesss, Scully…," his graveled voice makes her clit pulse with desire.

"And it feels so… so good, Mulder. You feel so good. Your ummm… your hands… and your… ohhhh… your tongue…." She's unclasped her bra and is massaging her breasts, flicking at her nipples, falling, falling so deeply into this fantasy, she doesn't care if she ever climbs out.

"What does she like, Scully? Tell me what she likes…," he sounds out of breath, and she can hear his quiet grunts through the line. His hand is on his cock right now, Dana. She gushes wet at the thought.

"She likes… she likes you to ahhh… to pinch them. But not too hard…. Just gentle… And to ahhh… flick them, and roll them between your fingers…." She brings her index finger to her mouth and licks it, so it's as wet as his tongue, then brings it back down to her nipple and rubs…. "And ohhhh, your tongue… she loves it when lick her with your tongue…, when you suckle her… ohhh god, Mulder, it feels so good."

"Does it, Scully? Does it feel good?" she hears the hunger in his voice, and she wants nothing more than to feed it. With her body, with her mind, with her soul.

She pinches her nipple and whimpers, "So fucking good…"

"Christ, Scully," he gasps, "What happens next? Can I… can I see her… unghh… can I see her… ," he pauses briefly, then breathes "… her pussy?"

"Oh god, Mulder," she's never been a fan of that word, but holy shit, it's suddenly the most arousing thing she's ever heard, coming from his mouth. Her hips arch forward, inviting him to see, her body yearning for his eyes upon it. "Ummm… god… yeah… yeah, you can see it," she shifts in the seat and sighs, her hand leaving her breast to travel back down between her legs.

Jesus, she needs more though… She puts her cell phone on speaker and lays it on the desk, freeing both hands. *His* hands on her body, not her own. *His* fingers caressing her swollen breasts, squeezing her ripened nipples, *His* fingers searching out her aching core.

"You… you unbutton her pants… and slide them down her legs. Until she's just in her… ummm… her panties." Is he picturing her? Does he see the same thing in his mind that she sees right now? Does he see them on that black, leather couch, so intoxicated by one another, they can't see straight? "Her… her panties… they match the bra… black satin… lace…"

"Shitttt, Scully…" His rhythmic grunts have her hypnotized. She will be under his spell for the rest of her life, she realizes this now. "Is she… is she wet, Scully? Is she wet for me?"

She reaches inside her trousers; there's no way she can't. Her body is no longer under her own control. She slides her middle finger through her slickened folds. "Ohhh goddd, Mulder… So wet… I'm so wet for you…"

His immediate groan and strangled "Scullllly" should have clued her in to her slip, but she's so far-gone now, so fully immersed in the idea of them finally succumbing to each other after so many years, that she doesn't realize. And perhaps she wouldn't even care.

"And you… and you… pull them down… and you… you see her. For the first time, you see her…. And her body… it's… it's quivering in anticipation… " She pauses, allowing herself to fully envision the moment, watching his expression, aching for his approval, feeling so completely vulnerable before him.

"She's beautiful, Scully… *You're* beautiful. So fucking beautiful, you break my heart every time I look at you…," his voice is so tender, so loving— it spirals through the air like smoke and alights upon her skin, caressing her almost as completely as she wishes his hands would do. She feels a sob rise in her throat, but before it breaks free, he continues, "Tell me, Scully… tell me what to do next…"

She pulls herself together. "You… you slide your fingers through her folds…, th-through *my* folds," the last bit she whispers, its implications still too fragile and scary to say aloud. "It feels sooo good, Mulder…, you feel so good." She presses gently, her fingers slippery with the arousal that drips from her core, and slips one inside. Then another. Slides them in, then out, then in again.

"Can I… can I taste? Do you… will you let me taste you, Scully? I've wanted to… for so long…." He is gasping, and she imagines his face— eyes shut, mouth slack, utterly, utterly divine. Her fingers move faster, and with her free hand, she tugs gently at her nipples. They're so hard, it's becoming painful. Her tongue can't seem to keep itself inside her mouth, playing along her lips and her teeth, desperately seeking its mate.

"Oh god, Mulder… oh god, I've wanted… so long, too… please… yes… taste me, Mulderrrr…." The thought of his mouth upon her sex draws a surge of wetness from her core, and she can hardly bear the exquisite torture of hearing him in her ear, yet not feeling his touch.

"Scully, fuck… Tell me… tell me what you taste like… wh-what I do to you…"

She brings her fingers to her lips and sucks them inside. She wants to taste what he does to her, wants to drink in the desire that's consumed her for so long, she's forgotten every other man she's ever known. He is her ever after. It's futile denying it any longer.

"Mul..,"she edges her words out around her fingers, "It's… it's salty, ummm… like licking my lips at the beach…, tangy…. Mulder, you… you have no idea what you do to me… no idea…." She's desperate to feel him inside her, desperate to fill herself with his body. She finds her pulsing bundle of nerves again, and circles, circles. "I'm… my clit… it's throbbing and… ohhh… ummm slick…. Wh-what about… ahhh… you, Mulder?"

"Oh Scully…," his groan makes her gasp with its rawness, "My god, Scully…, I'm… I'm so hard… so fucking hard for you…. Always— not just now, Scully…. I'm hard for you… ungghh… every… every day…. I want you every day…."

The sounds across the line are becoming frantic. She can hear him, grunting, straining. His words, and the thought of him touching himself, are quickly driving her into a frenzy as well. Her hips are thrusting, her body searching for him in the emptiness beneath his desk. She's close, so close, and she bites her lip to keep from completely unravelling.

"Scully…," he groans, and the sound of his hunger is exquisite.

"Close…," she gasps, her head thrown back as she frantically works her fingers— she's grinding against the seat now, flicking at her nipples, sucking her lips inside her mouth. "So close, Mulder…. so, so close…."

"Oh fuck…. Scully… Scullllll… fuckkkk… Sculllllyyyy…."

His moan travels through the hallway just as clearly as through the phone, and with it, she falls over the edge as well. "Ohgodohgodohgod," her voice is a barely-there squeak, then a low, sultry moan, heavy with an awe reserved for only the most profound of emotions, "Oh… My… God… " She comes—seven years of arousal, seven years of want, swelling throughout the basement office, filling the very space where it all began, what feels like a lifetime ago.

She's always looked at this office as a place of new beginnings. Now, even moreso.

Their gasps slow enough to keep time with one another, merging into one single sound, one single breath. One narrow hallway between them. Will they ever be free of hallways? Will they ever be allowed a wide, open space? Where emotions can finally be free?

Today. She remembers thinking this morning that this was going to be the day. The day they finally become one. Never had she imagined it evolving like this.

She picks up the phone, turns it off speaker, and places it next to her ear. Shyly, she asks, "Did you… did you get the sample?" You officially get the award for the least romantic thing ever said after a sexual encounter, Dana. Congratulations.

He chuckles intimately, then says, "Yeah… yeah, I got it.…" She's not sure where to go next in this tangled web of a conversation, but then he continues, "Scully…. Listen, this… this isn't what I wanted… what I hoped for… for us…."

"Mulder…," she murmurs, looking down and seeing her pants still open, panties wet and plastered against her skin. Did the last fifteen minutes really just happen?

"Really, Scully…. I've always had visions… of us…. I- I've always wanted to make it special for you." She falls in love with him yet again at his words. She's fallen in love with him so many times through the years, she's lost count.

Did they really just have phone sex? In the office, no less? She wants to cry at the crude reality of it. Of all the ways she's pictured their first encounter….

"Scully?"

"What?" she whispers, suddenly feeling fragile and breakable. She hates herself for not being able to control her emotions.

"I wouldn't change it for the world."

"Yeah?" her voice is a soft whimper, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

"Yeah," he says reassuringly. "I know… I know it wasn't romantic… or even close to what we've both probably envisioned. But it was *us*, Scully. And I'd never change or regret anything between us."

She can't help but duck her chin and close her eyes, charmed by him even through the phoneline. Count on Mulder to be a hopeless romantic, even amidst the most awkward situation she thinks she's ever encountered.

"I could never regret it either," she murmurs.

"So… ummm… I need to get this sample over to the lab now. They need it as soon as possible," he says quietly.

"Of course, right… Yes, the… the timing is at a critical stage now." She's always covered her insecurities with science. Is this it? Mission accomplished? Life back to normal?

She hears the door to the bathroom close and his footsteps echo down the hallway toward the elevator. She's about to disconnect her phone when she hears his voice, "Hey, Scully?"

"Yeah?" Please don't break my heart, Mulder.

"Ummm… how about I meet you back at your place? After I go by the lab. Ummm… I'd like to take you out to dinner. To… to celebrate."

"What… what are we celebrating, Mulder?" she whispers.

"Us, Scully. We're celebrating us." The elevator doors ding.

"Ummm, yeah. Yeah. I think that'd be good, Mulder," she smiles as she hangs up, and begins to rebutton her shirt.

Today. She and Mulder will merge today. Their fragile bodies will finally unite, in a consummation seven years in the making.

But perhaps their joining will take place in more ways that she'd originally anticipated. In an hour, in a sterile, temperature-regulated, precisely-prepared petri dish. And maybe if she's lucky, later tonight, in her soft, quiet bed. And then on her couch. And perhaps even her dining room table.

If she's lucky.

Today.


End file.
